Living with the Giant

by Cynthia Siegfried

Living with cancer is like living
with an unwelcome, uninvited
giant in your home. After you
recover from the initial shock of his
arrival and realize he has decided to stay
a while, you must decide how you will
adjust to his presence. Do you get to
know him better so that you are prepared
for his next attack? Or do you ignore
him and hope he will disappear? Do you
make a strategic battle plan?

After a while, you become accustomed
to his presence, but you never,
ever forget he is there. You tiptoe
around him because any minute he
might awaken, angry and threatening.
When he does, what kind of mood
will he be in? You never know if he
will devour you in one large bite or be
satisfied with a little snack to hold him
over while he returns to hibernation.
Sometimes he is so quiet you think he
might be dead, but then he stirs, rears
his ugly head, and stomps around the
house “fee, fie, foe, fumming,” looking
for the blood of an Englishman.

Friends have said, in an attempt to
minimize cancer’s horror, “Well, you
know, any one of us could step off the
curb and get hit by a truck tomorrow.”
That’s true, but when you have cancer,
the truck passes by the house on a
regular basis honking its horn to get
your attention.

“... but then he stirs, rears his ugly head, and
stomps around the house “fee, fie, foe, fumming.”

Each time a check-up comes around,
I thank God that my husband is still
here to get one, but we’ve had to dig
deep into our faith to keep the threat
of another recurrence from robbing
us of the joy in his survival. We have
been living with cancer for nearly
eight years. I don’t forget the giant
is lurking in the shadows, but I’m
not as afraid of him as I once was.
No longer do I let my fear of his
awakening rob me of those peaceful
times when he is silent.

Cancer has taught us to live in the
moment. We delight in a magnificent
sunset. We find pleasure in a grandchild’s
uninhibited laughter. We’ve
pruned our schedules, leaving more
of those activities we enjoy and fewer
of those that drain our energy. We say
no to social obligations and yes to dessert.
We’re slower to anger and quick
to forgive.

Like Jack of beanstalk fame, when
we faced our giant, we discovered unexpected
rewards. We haven’t found
the hen that lays the golden eggs, but
our lives are immeasurably richer.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Cynthia Siegfried became a
caregiver when her husband, Jim, was diagnosed
with lung cancer in 2002. She is
grateful for his eight-year survival, during
which he experienced two recurrences and
another primary cancer (prostate). Jim and
Cynthia are the founders of a support group,
f.a.i.t.H. – facing an illness through Him. Her
book, Cancer Journey: A Caregiver’s View
from the Passenger Seat was published in February
2010. For more information, visit her
website, www.caregivercancerjourney.com.

This article was originally published in Coping® with Cancer magazine,
January/February
2011.